


give me nothing. give me you.

by littlethiefs



Series: can i be close to you [3]
Category: The Daevabad Trilogy - S. A. Chakraborty
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodyguard Romance, F/M, I LOVE HIM OK, Secret Relationship, also i love muntadhir he's my baby, but he was a dick in COB as a defense mechanism, gotta suck, i love pain and angst as you can probably tell, imagine having to see your secret lover marry someone else, just when you think their lives can't get any worse, part 3 of my COB au, so i purposely made him a little rude, this is very bollywood-esque
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26171608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlethiefs/pseuds/littlethiefs
Summary: muntadhir and nahri get married. dara watches.
Relationships: Darayavahoush e-Afshin/Nahri e-Nahid, Nahri e-Nahid/Muntadhir al Qahtani
Series: can i be close to you [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853767
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	give me nothing. give me you.

The heavy, gold-embroidered gown came first, then the pair of cream slippers pushed gently over her feet. Nahri had been scrubbed clean by an absurd number of servants, her skin covered with perfumed oils, her hair freed of its many tangles. The women flitted about her now, one darkening her eyes with a charcoal-like substance, the other dabbing at her face with a powder that gave her ordinary brown skin the luminous glow of a full-blood’s. Her shafit appearance may have been a curse, but it would not do for the emir of Daevabad to sit next to someone who looked like she did - not on his own wedding day. 

The chador came next, placed reverently over her hair. She felt her heart begin to pound in her chest even as she held her chin high. Nahri gazed at herself in the mirror, noticing that she did not look fully present - not even to herself. It was as if an identical woman was sitting in front of her, being molded into the perfect picture of a daeva bride. The same way goats were prepared for sacrifice during Eid. She swallowed, watching the women pin her chador into place, artfully arranging every fold, every crease. She clenched her fists. Once, the extravagance, the perfection would have excited her; now, the sham of it made her want to put her hand through her own reflection. 

Last came the headpiece, its band encrusted with teal, purple and gold jewels--the royal colors making her flinch--and ornate carvings of shedu wings. The servant women stepped back with satisfied smiles on their faces, giving Nahri a wider berth than she had had all evening. She looked glorious.

She felt anything but.

When Nahri heard the women begin to shuffle away, she averted her gaze from the mirror to see Nisreen standing in the doorway. Her mentor was dressed in formal daeva attire after Nahri had insisted that she be present at her wedding; she was the closest thing Nahri had to family… families were supposed to be in attendance at weddings, were they not? Nisreen stepped into the bedchamber and closed the door behind her.

“You are radiant, Banu Nahri,” she remarked, touching the top of Nahri’s covered head with a gentle hand. When Nahri said nothing, she continued. “The rituals will begin soon, I am told. I trust you have taken what I brewed for you.” Almost numbly, Nahri nodded. Today, she would be taken to a stranger’s room, lie in a stranger’s bed, fulfill her  _ duties _ as a wife to this stranger, but she would not bear him a child. Not until she was ready. That, at least, was one thing Ghassan could not take from her. 

At that, Nahri felt all the resolve she had meticulously built begin to crumble. She had not shed a single tear all day and she would not begin now, but the tremor that was traveling down her spine, the shake of her hands, the sudden unfocusing of her vision… those were completely unbidden, and she could not bring her traitorous body under her control. 

“Nahri?” Nisreen began cautiously. _ Do not fall apart _ , she commanded herself, rubbing her sweaty palms together, the perfumed scent wafting off her skin suddenly making her feel sick.

“Go. Please,” she croaked out to Nisreen, who looked at her with abject concern. She made a move closer to Nahri, who instinctively held out both her hands to stop her. Nisreen’s eyes widened seeing the obvious shaking of her Banu Nahida’s hands, before she gave a nod and hurried out of the bedchamber.

And now she was alone again, and she was beginning to realize a truth, a terrible truth which threw everything she had envisioned off balance. She would soon be married, but Nahri would always be alone. All her carefully negotiated plans of dowry, of compromise, of eventual rule for the betterment of Daevabad seemed so foolish in the face of an impossibly long life lived with a man she did not love, one she did not trust, in a city she did not belong in with a world that was not hers.  _ A choice _ , she had said to Dara all those months ago when he had come to take her away. Her choice. A lonely Egyptian thief left to roam filthy streets barefoot as a child to a lonely, wealthy bride cursed to live a loveless marriage, pretending at freedom while trapped in a gilded cage with a king’s blade at her throat. What a choice it was.

A soft knock at her door jolted her out of her thoughts, her breathing erratic and uneven, a hollow pit in her stomach. She closed her eyes and attempted to straighten her shoulders.  _ Was it time already _ ? To be served up to the Qahtanis on a gold platter? She heard the door open and shut, then light footsteps heading towards her.

“ _ Nahri _ ,” came the achingly familiar voice and her eyes snapped open to see her Afshin standing behind her through the mirror. He was dressed in a dark jacket embroidered with brass thread, his hair tied back from his face and a khanjar strapped to his waist. Dara, in all his daeva finery, come to see her wed to someone else. Slowly, his reflection reached out and touched the hem of her chador with shaky fingers. “Nisreen sent me,” he said softly.

“How do I look?” she asked, swallowing the lump rising in her throat.  _ Don’t fall apart _ .

“I know you are the accomplished thief between the two of us, my lady, but I am almost tempted to steal you away,” he smiled, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. But the jest made her lips pull up in a small smile of her own, and Dara touched his fingers to the corner of her mouth. She reached up and held his hand there, feeling the warmth of his skin burn through her pores.

_ Don’t fall apart _ . “Am I making a mistake?” He frowned before swiftly coming to kneel beside her. He touched her legs and she turned to him, the sight of him on his knees before her chipping away at the little resolve she had left. 

“You must decide that for yourself,” he said firmly, taking her hands in his own. “All those months ago when you faced down Ghassan and gave him your ultimatums and negotiated a marriage deal, you did so because you thought it meant something. If whatever you thought was worthy of that remains so, then remember it. If it does not, say the word and I will take you away, Nahri. I swear it.” Nahri stared down at her fingers threaded through his, hearing the thump of her heart against her chest. Dara, as always, was a hole of nothingness in her magic’s senses. No heartbeat, no blood or humors rushing through his body. She leaned forward to place her forehead against his and closed her eyes, letting his warmth engulf her.

By the Creator, she wanted to take his hand and run. To the wilds of Daevastana, to live tucked away within the mountains, to go on adventures with the man she loved by her side. But, he was right. She’d had a plan that went beyond her, beyond both of them now. This city was nothing but chaos, ready to explode and then crumble away with a single misstep. Where shafit lived under constant, violent prejudice with nobody on their side, and the Daevas lived as prisoners within their own city, bowing their heads to the descendants of someone who had taken  _ everything _ from them. Could Nahri truly turn her back on her people? Could  _ Dara _ ?

She reached up and touched his cheek before pulling back the slightest. “If only things were different, I’d be marrying you instead,,” she murmured. 

Still on his knees before her, Dara kissed her fingers, his green eyes shining bright with shattered dreams and unspoken wishes of his own. But he had never been one to add to grief by sharing his own, and so he simply grinned and said, “Your ancestors must be so scandalized, Banu Nahida, knowing that the last Nahid’s two options are her sworn Afshin and a Qahtani.” 

She let out a small laugh, then pulled away and took a deep breath. Dara got up and fixed her chador, his fingers lingering for longer than they needed to. He held out a hand which she used to rise to her feet. For a long moment, they stood there looking at each other, their hands clasped together… then a knock followed by Nisreen’s voice. “Banu Nahri, they are ready.”

Sheer panic clawed at her throat and Nahri stared at him with wide eyes, her breath coming in short, frightened bursts. So much for not falling apart. Dara’s gaze darted to the window, as if he was contemplating throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her away, but then he met her gaze and she saw nothing but resolve there. He kissed her forehead, murmuring a “You can do this, my love,” against her skin. Then, he led her to the door and with a sad smile that she didn’t think she would ever forget, he held it open for her.

*

It was done.

As the sound of drums and melodious singing wafted towards her, Nahri glanced at the emir - her  _ husband _ \- sitting by her side. His smile was so radiant, so splendid it made her want to look away, his demeanor so utterly at ease it almost made her think he was happy about this. But every once in a while, Muntadhir al Qahtani would glance at her out of the corner of his eye, and that rakish grin would slip ever so slightly, the mask melting to reveal someone just as unhappy as she was. How  _ good _ he was at masking it frightened her. The nobles he had been speaking with now bowed before them both and Nahri inclined her head with respect, acknowledging their farewell. One exchanged a remark with Muntadhir in Geziriyya and he laughed, ever the charmer. 

“I know this is unpleasant for both of us,” he said out of the side of his mouth when they were gone. “But a smile or a fond word would go a long way in fooling our audience.”

“I’m not quite as good as you are at making fools of a room full of djinn, emir.”

“You should learn to be.” He was interrupted by yet another noble - an Ayaanle woman come to give her heartiest congratulations to the happy couple. Nahri plastered a smile on her face, hoping it didn’t look like a grimace. When the woman tottered away, Muntadhir sighed. “What is done is done. This is a farce - I know it and you know it, Banu Nahri. We’re in a show. We made the deal, we signed the contracts, and now we must perform.”

It was the most he had said to her, and he’d almost sounded like a  _ person _ then. The emir was an enigma, so different from his younger brother that Nahri found it hard to believe they were siblings. Ali’s naive and blunt idealism, his reserved and shy demeanor around her was at complete odds with this shrewd man sitting beside her with his sharp smiles and careful tongue. Ever since she’d arrived at the palace, Nahri had only ever thought of Ghassan as her enemy, the other Qahtanis a blur in the back of her mind. But perhaps she had underestimated the emir, and despite the words they had just exchanged, she felt a chill settle over her. She had thought he was a mark. An easy, drunk one she could manipulate into getting what she wanted, for herself, for her people, for this city. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure.

“Your Afshin is a problem,” he said then, and Nahri clenched her fists. She would not talk of Dara with anyone, least of all a Qahtani. The emir cocked an eyebrow at her pointed silence, then continued. “Asking that he not be sent away was foolish.”

“Don’t presume to tell me what is and isn’t foolish,” she replied calmly. “He is my Afshin and he is doing his job by being here. The Daevas love him-”

“And the rest of the city wants his head on a spike. His presence makes everyone here uneasy.”

“Does he make  _ you _ uneasy, emir?” Muntadhir gave her a wicked smile.

“Darayavahoush does not concern me. But perhaps you should know that there are people watching him - and you, for that matter. I don’t particularly care about what is going on between the two of you, but unfortunately, we are now wed so I ask that you try to hide it better.” 

She noticed he was looking very deliberately at a corner of the room. She followed his gaze to see that he was, indeed, appraising Dara who was leaning against a wall with a drink in his hand, in conversation with a djinn.  _ Careful, Banu Nahida. I may cause a scene _ , he had said two weeks ago in a cave on the outskirts of the Daeva quarter where they’d talked about her wedding. But here he was, looking perfectly composed. She’d snuck glances at him throughout the night, watched him laugh with the other daevas present, watched him bow respectfully in front of Nisreen, making her blush. Watched him walk around the room, shadows curling around his collar, unimpressed and unbothered when djinn retreated out of his path as if he was the devil. All that bravado he presented to the world, all that confidence. All of which fell away during the darkest nights where he’d whisper his confessions into the crook of her neck.

He looked up then, as if she’d called out to him. Their eyes met across the room and careless and at ease he may have seemed, she saw his clenched jaw, the tense line of his shoulders and the way the smoke around his collar was darker than it usually was. He looked at her for a long moment, Nahri all too aware that the man sitting beside her was watching her Afshin’s every move. Dara’s gaze flitted from hers to Muntadhir, before he downed his drink, muttered something to the daeva he’d been talking to and swiftly left the pavilion. She watched him walk through the door, turn a corner and disappear out of sight.

A hollowness settled over her at the sight of his retreating back. Despite the constant stream of people coming to speak with her, despite the chaos of food and dance and music, it was those minimal glances of Dara gliding through the room that had kept calming her. But could she truly blame him for leaving? How would she have felt seeing him marry another while she watched and pretended she did not care? She could not imagine it, and so she swallowed the sadness and the faint traces of anger building in her throat, plastered a smile on her face and turned to face the woman approaching her now.

“Sister,” Zaynab al Qahtani said, looking as otherworldly as ever. She bent and kissed Nahri on each cheek before giving her brother an affectionate hug. “My, don’t you two make a lovely pair.”

“Ah, you know how I make anyone sitting beside me look good. Even you.” Muntadhir replied and Zaynab’s gaze flitted to Nahri to see how she’d take the jab. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Be nice, Dhiru,” she said sternly.

“I am the picture of nice.” he snapped, taking another swig of his wine. Zaynab reached out and placed a hand on Nahri’s, who was startled at the princess’s sudden gentleness.

“I know you were friends with Ali before he left Daevabad,” she said, not unkindly, a sadness tingeing her voice at the mention of her brother. “And we may not have started on the best terms, but we’re family now, and I hope we can be cordial if not friends like you and Ali were.” Nahri gave her a small smile, the lukewarm offer of cordiality far more than she had ever expected from her, considering what had happened on their first meeting.

“Thank you, princess,” Nahri said, patting Zaynab’s hand. “I hope to get to know you better. And please, if you have any correspondence with Ali, give him my regards.” Zaynab nodded, looked between Nahri and Muntadhir before gathering her gown and stepping back into her fold of women. Just then, the door opened… 

…and Dara slipped back into the room. Nahri’s heart lurched to her throat as he looked straight at her, an apologetic smile on his face. He inclined his head in a slight bow, placing a hand over his heart, and it was enough for Nahri to understand his meaning. Silently, Dara made his way towards the two of them, stopping a few feet away. Bowing deeply to them with a “May the fires burn brightly for you both,” he leisurely, purposefully came to stand by her side, just over an arm’s length away. 

Muntadhir was now watching her. Nahri simply straightened and reached out for the honeyed milk an Agnivanshi woman had brought for her earlier in the evening. Taking a sip, the ice clinking against her teeth, she said, “Smile, my emir. It’s a show, remember?” With a half chuckle, her husband turned to speak with yet another noble hurrying over to get in the royal couple’s good graces. Nahri smiled while her Afshin stood as sentinel by her side, his hands clasped behind his back, and a twinkle in his eye.


End file.
